The Blizzard
by ForzaDelDestino
Summary: One-shot in which Camelot is snowed in, it's too icy to go out, the crown prince's chamber is too cold, and Merlin is in a baaaaaad mood. Mild Merthur.


**The Blizzard**

There had never been a winter quite like this in living memory. It was blisteringly cold, and the bitter weather was accompanied by an almost continuous snowfall. Icicles hung from the noses of gargoyles high atop the castle walls, and it was so blustery that even children chose to forgo the usual seasonal pleasures of snowball fights and snowman construction. In spite of King Uther's grumblings that the townspeople and folk in the outlying farms could take care of themselves, the crown prince had wagonloads of firewood sent to the lower town for anyone who needed fuel, and ordered blankets to be delivered to the farmhouses. He also announced that collection of the winter tax would be suspended until spring, and many a craftsman and householder breathed a sigh of relief, knowing nothing of the arguments the prince had waged with his father in order to make this happen.

The deep freeze in Camelot affected everyone at court, the elderly in particular. Gaius spent as much time as possible in his chambers, sitting in front of the fire, bundled up in a heavy cape with an ancient, moth-eaten quilt over his shoulders. Uther insisted loudly that he was still hearty and in the prime of life, but it was noticed that he had taken to wearing an extra cloak and fur-lined gloves. The young were less burdened by the cold, but most began sporting extra layers of clothing, and the ladies put vanity aside, donning heavy woolen outer robes that hid their shapely figures, and hoods that covered their carefully coifed locks.

Even with a blazing fire in the hearth the crown prince's room was cold, so on the most frigid night he piled every spare blanket from the linen chest onto his bed. When he found that it was still too chilly, he added a large, down-filled coverlet nicked from an unused guest room, a heavy tablecloth, and Merlin.

When Merlin said that he didn't think providing body heat was anywhere in his job description, Arthur cuffed him over the head (gently) and told him to shut up.

"No, really, since when has warming the royal sheets been part of my official job?"

"It's not part of your _job_," Arthur replied, settling pillows behind his head. "But if you fancy turning into an icicle by morning, by all means sleep elsewhere, idiot."

Merlin was exhausted; he was cold, his arms ached from mucking out the stables and then helping Gaius all afternoon, his jaws ached from clenching them against the brutal wind. He had never felt less like putting up with Arthur's prattishness, and so he didn't.

"That's what you always say. '_Mer_lin, you're an idiot. Don't be such a girl, _Mer_lin. Shut up, _Mer_lin, you're talking rubbish as usual.'" The young man produced a credible imitation of the crown prince's voice at its most arrogant.

Arthur laughed so hard he almost fell out of bed.

"It isn't always funny, Arthur."

Arthur was still snorting into the pillow.

"How many times have I helped save your ar--your royal backside? And I'm hardly a girl."

"I know _that_," Arthur said, one hand searching for proof of the matter.

"Ow!" Merlin gave a start. "Your fingers are like _ice_!"

"Sorry," said Arthur, but he did not sound sorry a bit. "Stop fidgeting. You'll warm up faster if you stay in one place."

"I've been cold all day," mumbled Merlin, but his moment of temper was fading and he allowed Arthur to pull him close against the comforting heat of his solid body.

"It's because you're too thin, Merlin," Arthur said severely, tapping Merlin's hipbone for emphasis. "If you put on a little weight you wouldn't feel the cold so."

"I suppose," Merlin said sleepily, warming his hands against the prince's broad chest. "You have the advantage over me, there."

"_Mer_lin," Arthur muttered warningly, half sitting up. "If that's your way of suggesting that I'm fat--"

"No no no no no!" Merlin said in alarm, tugging the prince back down. "Don't do that, you're letting the cold air under the blankets."

Arthur looked smug as he lay back beneath the multitude of covers, bunching pillows behind his neck. "You see how much better it is if you don't fidget? It's obvious you ate way too many sugarplums at dinner–all that sugar."

"How can I put on weight if I don't eat sugarplums, you prat?" Merlin gritted sarcastically, rubbing his eyes with fatigue.

"Bread, butter, and cream on your porridge should do the trick, Merlin," Arthur replied in that condescending tone that normally set Merlin's teeth on edge–except that he was far too tired to care, and the warmth of those muscular arms around him felt so good. "Now we had better sleep–and I _do_ mean sleep. You don't want dark circles under those beautiful–erm, I mean, those sad blue eyes tomorrow morning. I expect everyone will be needed to clear away snowdrifts–royalty included. Even if it's still snowing."

"Still snowing!" yawned Merlin. "Who says it's going to snow tomorrow?" He was clearly half asleep, dark eyelashes fluttering against his high cheekbones, and the corners of Arthur's mouth turned upward in the gentle smile that he would never, _ever _let Merlin see.

"Well...both Gaius and old Sir Ector think it will. And they're usually spot on about the weather. After we've cleared some paths, I suppose it means another day indoors."

"The snow's already well past my knees," Merlin grumbled. "If I've slipped and fallen once, I've done it a thousand times."

"Go to _sleep_, Merlin," the crown prince said in a cheerful manner that was meant to be comforting. "There's nothing for it; we'll have to wait the storm out. I imagine we _will_ be indoors for a greater part of the week."

"Oh God," Merlin groaned despairingly. "All week? Indoors. What are we going to _do_, then?"

"Nothing we haven't done before," Arthur replied with a meaningful smirk, pulling the covers up over their shoulders.


End file.
